


Old Wounds Make New Art

by bornonthewrongside



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Cute, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Scars, against
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornonthewrongside/pseuds/bornonthewrongside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Sandor is a tattoo artist who specializes in scar cover ups. After her break up with Joffrey, Sansa is left with a visible scar that she would like to forget about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're A Fighter

Sansa Stark stood with her hands clenched tightly together in front of the  _ Hound’s Den.  _ Her auburn hair was down her back in a single braid, a few pieces out to frame her porcelain face. Her once perfect makeup was smudged as she wiped at her eyes. Her loose jeans pooled around her ankles, getting damp in the March drizzle. Puddles accumulated in the gutter, and the soft pittering of rain calmed her. 

 

The tattoo parlor was as intimidating as it sounded; it’s logo had a fierce rendering of a dog snarling at another weaker looking dog. She didn’t like it. Its heavy door was painted a color that reminded her of death; it sent shivers down her spine. But she had to go in; she knew this. Her sister had told he was the best at what he did. She just wished she didn’t need it.

 

Taking another minute to build up courage, Sansa willed herself to move her feet. She stepped one foot into the street and then another, and another. She counted her steps in her head,  _ one, two, three, four, five… _ It calmed her, counting. She didn’t have to focus on what she actually needed to. 

 

She grasped the door handle with a bruised hand, and pulled it open. She stepped into a room with loud music and ripped chairs. A bored looking woman sat with her feet up on the desk. She looked up as Sansa walked through the door. 

 

“Hi, I’m Sansa Stark, I have an appointment with…” She dug into her coat pocket to see the name Arya had written out for her, “Sandor Clegane?” 

 

“He’s finishing up another client; you can take a seat over there.” She smiled politely, and went back to typing on her phone. 

 

Sansa smiled politely back at her, and stepped over to the least offensive looking chair. She brought her hand up to her hair, to instinctively run her hand through, but remembered it was in a braid. She needed a haircut so badly that her hair hung her face whenever it was out of the braid. She looked at her hand with a twinge of embarrassment; it had been over a month since she had last even seen Joffrey, but his trace was still left on her, whether it be bruises or scars. 

 

Her phone vibrated against her thigh, and she checked a message from Arya, wishing her luck. Sansa’s hand went to her thigh, and rubbed the place where the large scar had taken over. She felt the bumps of her uneven skin, even under the baggy jeans. She cringed as she thought about it. It had been well over a year, but it still killed her inside to think about. 

 

“Sansa Stark?” The woman from the desk, stood by her chair. 

 

Sansa shook herself out of her thoughts, and looked up at  the woman, “Yes?” 

 

“You can head back. It’s the third room on the left.” She smiled as Sansa stood, and as Sansa started walking away, she grabbed her arm. “His face is… just don’t stare, okay? He doesn’t like it when people stare.” 

 

Sansa nodded dumbly, and kept walking. She didn’t know what to expect. But she knew what it was like to have people stare. She  _ wouldn’t stare. _

 

She walked to the third door on the left, and quietly knocked. A man from inside gruffed out a response. She slowly opened the door to see a man much too big for the small stool he was sitting on, staring intently on a computer screen with his back to hers. 

 

“Mr. Clegane?” Sansa asked shakily. 

 

“Sandor’s fine, sit.” He turned, and Sansa saw what the woman was talking about. Half of his face was stretched tautly against the bone. It was discoloured and awkward looking. He was staring at her as she looked at him. She blinked twice, and smiled. 

 

“I’m Sansa Stark. I was recommended to you; she said you were good at…” Sansa looked at down at her leg. 

 

He let out a bark of laughter, “I’m best at scar cover-ups, ironic isn’t it?” His voice singed with anger.

 

“No, I wasn’t looking - I mean, I…” 

 

“I know what you meant girl,” He practically snarled it out. 

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t making fun of your face. I just don’t talk about my scars.” Sansa bit her tongue at the last part, feeling the idiocy of her statement as she stared at a man who no choice but accept his scars.

 

He stared at her for a moment, and nodded, He turned back to his screen, pulling various windows. “I need your license.” 

 

“Oh,” Sansa grabbed her purse, pulled out her wallet, and handed over her license. As she extended her arm, her hand and wrist showed under her rain jacket revealing the fading bruises. He stared at it for a second too long before turning back to the screen, typing faster than she ever could. 

 

She watched as his back was her. He really was one of the largest men she had ever seen. His muscle mass was more of her whole family combined. Tattoos lined every surface of his arms; the most noticeable one was of three dogs, simple but very powerful. Smaller ones danced around his skin; one of two birds caught her attention, a small white one next to a larger dark one. As his muscles moved, the tattoos moved with them.  His hair was caught at the top of his head in a bun; not one of the little ones that most wore, but it was wrapped around. She stared at his hair, noticing the hair on the scarred side of his head started higher than the other side. He looked back at her, and she noticed his eyes. They were so grey and piercing, beautiful even. 

 

“You might as well take off your jacket, we’re going to be here a while.” He handed back her ID, and leaned back, stretching his muscles. 

 

Sansa shrugged out of her coat to reveal an oversized sweater. Her clothes were too big for her, she felt as if she were drowning in them. She hid her hands in her sleeves, and smiled at him shyly without showing any teeth. 

 

“So, you have a scar that you want covered?” 

 

“Yes,” Sansa answered slowly, nodding her head. 

 

“How big? Where is it?” He seemed to be searching her body, as if he could see it through her clothes. 

 

Her hand automatically started tracing the scar on her thigh, “Um, my thigh and it takes up about, I don’t know, a third of my thigh?” 

 

He nodded, obviously starting to see her fear and how uncomfortable she was. “Okay, how old is that scar?” 

 

“When I got it or when it fully healed?” Sansa looked him in the eye. 

 

“Both, I need to know how deep the damage is.” 

 

“The doctors say it’s fine to tattoo over. I got the burn” his face flinched at the word, “almost two years ago, and it healed last year.” 

 

“So it was a burn?” He typed something into the computer. 

 

“Yes,” Sansa nodded again. 

 

“May I see it?” He asked politely; the time he was polite and not just quick to the point. 

 

Sansa hesitated before standing up, and shimmied out of her pants without having to unbutton them. The scar started under her plain nude coloured underwear and continued down about a third of the way down her thigh. It was shiny, and discoloured. She stepped out of her pants, and awkwardly stood there. 

 

“Take seat on the chair,” He motioned to the big recliner-like chair on the other side of the office. He didn’t stare at her as she walked over. As she sat on the chair, he gently pressed his hand on her shoulder to move her to one side, so he could get a better look at the scar. 

 

She jumped at his touch, “Sorry,” 

 

“Don’t apologize,” he said gruffly. “So if you want to cover all of it, which I’m assuming you do, it’s going to need to be a rather large tattoo. Are you going to be able to handle that?” 

 

She looked up at him, “What is that supposed to mean?”” 

 

”Sometimes girls come in, thinking they want this large, extravagant tattoo, and later regret it.” 

 

“I’d rather want a piece of art than this mutilated piece of skin reminding of…” She trailed off, looking up at him, “I am so sorry.” 

 

“Stop apologizing.” He turned away from her. His breathing was deeper as he walked back and typed more things in the computer. 

 

She sat there in embarrassed silence, wringing her hands together. 

 

“Do you know what you want?” He didn’t look back at her. 

 

“For what?” She scrunched her eyes at him; she should have remembered her glasses. 

 

“For what, she says.” He barks out a mean laugh. “Your tattoo, girl.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Flowers? Maybe, that would be easiest, I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders. Sansa had never really thought about what it would be. She never thought about tattoos before. 

 

“You don’t want to pick what’s easiest, girl. You want to pick what you want to look at the rest of your life.” He leaned back on his stool, and practically glared at her.

 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be a burden…” Sansa trailed off. 

 

“Stop your damn apologizing, girl. This is my job, now if you pick a fucking daisy, I’m going to kick you out of here. Challenge me for bloody fuck’s sake.” His voice was livid, but she felt as if the words aren’t directed at her. 

 

“Why do you have the birds?” She asked before she could stop herself. 

 

“What?” He looked down at his forearm and traced the birds before looking back up at her, “Why? Is that what you want? Some little birds for a little bird? Ms Stark, your scar is large. If you want flowers, there’s going to need to be a whole lotta fucking flowers. If you want a small bird, you’re going to need a whole lotta fucking birds.” 

 

It was the first time he used her name. He stood up, and looked at her leg again. He grabbed a measuring tape from the small table next to the chair. “Ms Stark, you’re a fighter. Get something to show that.” 

 

She looked up at him, and for the first time she smiled. They made eye contact, and his eyes weren’t as harsh as the rest of him. 

 

“I don’t know; I haven’t thought about it enough to really know what I want or what would be good. I realize that I probably shouldn’t have come in. I’m-” She stopped before she apologized again. 

 

“No, we can figure this out, and have you back in next week to get the linework started, and see where we go from there.” His voice was softer now. 

 

She thought about his words,  _ you’re a fighter. Get something to show that. _ Sansa ran her fingers over the scar.  _ What had she always called her sister? One with the…  _

 

“A wolf.” 

 

“What?” 

  
“I want a wolf.” 


	2. I Used To Be

Sandor stood near his table, cleaning off various tools. He had to practically hunch over as he did this. He hated being so damned tall. He scratched at the back of his head, his long hair left down today. He hadn’t meant to grow out his hair, he just never had time to go get it cut. It kept falling in his face as he looked at his tools. Annoyed, he threw it up into a bun. 

 

A reminder tone sounded from his computer. He made his way to his computer, maneuvering through chairs, and boxes of paperwork. 

 

_ Sansa Stark - 4 o’clock _ .

 

“Fuck,” Sandor whispered to himself. He looked at the clock, 3:45. He forgot about that. Which was surprising because this Stark girl had been on his mind for the majority of the week. She was so quiet, nothing like her hell-raising sister. When Arya had called him about her, he didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t say how she got the scar, and said not to ask details. So that’s what Sandor did. He didn’t promise to baby the girl, because he didn’t do that. 

 

But when he saw her… She practically tripped over the pants she was wearing. They looked like they could have fit him, and that was saying something. She hid in her clothes, trying to burrow away from the world. But she also looked him in the eye, didn’t scare away from his scars. He couldn’t think of one person who has ever done that. 

 

He looked around his office, thinking on how he could clean it up, to be ready for another client. Hell, Sansa’s file was still stuck at the back of his desk. They had come up with something, thank the seven. It wasn’t a fucking flower design; he would have been fine with that. But Sansa Stark wasn’t another girl. He could tell she was fighter, and so much more than she thought. 

 

He lifted some boxes as the door opened. Shae, a bored looking twenty something, peeked her head in. “Sansa Stark is here.” 

 

“Give me ten minutes.” He snarled back. 

 

Shae just nodded, used to his ill temper. She silently closed the door behind her. 

 

He piled boxes into the corner, heaving heavy breaths as he did. He stood in the middle of his office, looking at the boring walls, and the ugly floors. It was a sore sight. Pathetic, but it did what he needed it to. 

 

He grabbed Stark’s folder, and paged through it. He had found samples of wolves online.  _ She made a good choice,  _ he thought as sifted through some sample photos. They were some growling, others howling. He knew she wouldn’t want either, he knew which one she wanted. He had a way of reading people. She’d want something simple, direct. 

 

He set everything out on the desk, and called Shae to bring her in. 

 

Sandor sat in the desk chair he rarely used, and looked up at Sansa walked in. Today, she wrapped herself in a long, dull grey sweater over a dress that dragged on the floor a bit, but seemed t fit her much better than the jeans from the other day. Her hair was in a braid again, this time draped over her shoulder. It reached her waist in even the braid. Though she tried to hide her body in her clothes, Sandor could see how gorgeous she was. 

 

Silently, Sansa sat in the same chair that she did last time. She smiled at him, “How are you?” 

 

“Fine,” he breathed out. “You?” 

 

“I’m well.” She reached her hands up to play with her braid at the base of her skull. Light green bruises still shown around her wrists. Sandor clenched his fist under the table.  _ How could anyone do that someone who didn’t deserve it?  _

 

“Well, we got a lot done last week. So we can get into the linework today, we narrowed it down to three choices.” He laid out the three choices they chose from last time. 

 

Sansa leaned over the table, her hand playing with the tips of a necklace. She examined the one howling longer than he expected, ignored the growling one like he knew she would. Finally her hand rested on the calm wolf.

 

“This one?” She looked up at him, almost as if she were guessing. 

 

“Is that a question?” He barked at her. It came out harsher than he intended, but it yielded the result he wanted.

 

She stared at him for a moment, “No… No, I like it. I want this one.” 

 

“Good. You can go to the chair again. We’ll measure everything, I can draw it out in about an hour, and start today. Sound like a plan?” He was being much nicer than he usually was; he didn’t know why. She was just a girl. A beautiful, kind and sweet girl, but a girl nonetheless. 

 

“A vague one, but sure.” She stood again, and stepped over to the chair. Picking up the tattered end of her dress, Sansa pushed it up to her hips on the left side. The scar shone in the fluorescent light. Sansa didn’t look over at him as shuffled things on his desk. 

 

Sandor turned around, and wanted to give her a reassuring smile. He couldn’t though. That would frighten her more than anything else. So instead he did nothing, just grabbed the transparency paper and his pen. He sat in the stool, and rolled closer to her. This was his least favorite part of the whole process, the constant contact with the person. People tended to talk and talk while they were in this close of this vicinity of each other. He preferred the drawing and the art of it. 

 

Sansa didn’t say anything, but jumped as he touched her skin again. 

 

“Do you want me tell you before I touch you?” He took his hands off of her. 

 

She looked at him then, “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re hands are cold, that’s all.” 

 

So she learned to lie. She was practically trembling. “Stop apologizing.” 

 

“Sorry,” she whispered, then slowly smiled. “Sorry.” 

 

He let out a small laugh as well, “I’m going to touch your leg now.” 

 

He pressed his fingers against the tight skin of the scar. She didn’t jump at his touch. 

 

“It healed nicely, that’s something. This is will go well.” He turned away from her and her doe eyes. They were the deepest blue he had seen. He uncapped his pen, and started looking at the picture and drawing. He could see her out in his periphery, she was watching him with great interest. She looked like she wanted to ask about it, but instead bit her lip. 

 

“I’m drawing a rough sketch, and then with the transparency paper, I’ll transfer the image onto your skin.” He spoke as he drew, though he didn’t know why. He never did this for anyone else. “I think we’ll be able to do part of it today. This is your first tattoo, and I don’t know how well you’ll enjoy the feeling of a needle repeatedly going into your skin.” 

 

Sansa rolled her eyes, and let out a small laugh. 

 

“Did I say something funny?” He slid a look at her, and smirked. 

 

“No, not at all.” She scooted up on the chair, to get  better look. 

 

He didn’t say anything as he could feel her eyes on his hands. His hands worked along the eyes of the wolf, taking the detail of the fur slowly. The muscles of his arms flexed, revealing veins. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Sandor tried to put his full attention on the drawing and not on the woman sitting beside him. 

 

She sat in silence, watching him. And for once, he wished a client would talk to him. He glanced over at her, and he saw her face alive with interest. 

 

As he finished up the final details, he turned his body towards hers. He pushed his long sleeves up, and held the drawing out to her. 

 

“This is something we could do,” she took the paper from him. “You can see it’s different from the original in the eyes, and how it’s face a little more to the right. We can change it some more, or we can leave it, and start working on it today. Up to you.” 

 

Ms Stark didn’t speak for a moment, just nodded, tears bubbling at her eyes. “This is perfect. Beautiful. You’re so talented.” 

 

Sandor shrugged, unnerved by the compliment and her tears. “It’s my job. You’d better hope I’d be this good, if not you’d be fucked.” 

 

“Who did yours? Your tattoos, I mean.” Her eyes didn’t leave the paper, as if she were drinking every line he put on the page. 

 

“Uh,” he looked down at his arms, “a lot of people. This one here,” he pointed to the three dogs, “was done by a friend long gone. They turned out more sinister than I originally intended, but it flowed in nicely with the rest of the sleeve.”

 

She gazed at his arms, looking at each tattoo in turn. “What about the birds?”

 

Sandor glanced down over at his bicep, looking at the two different coloured birds. “Ah, let’s get you started.” 

 

He took the paper from her hands, and set it on the table next to him. He started gathering all of his preparatory materials. “I’ve to run a razor over the area first, just to be cautious. I’m aware hair doesn’t grow on scar tissue, but that’s besides the point… I’m going to touch you now, Ms Stark.” 

 

She nodded, and visibly stiffened. With a light, but firm touch, Sandor pressed his fingers into her skin. Lathering lotion onto the area that would become the wolf, Sandor looked at Sansa’s tightness. 

 

“Would you like a family or friend to be here with you, Ms Stark?” Sandor lifted his hands.

 

“No, I’m fine, really. I just don’t- I’m not used to someone touching me there.” She breathed in deeply. “I’ll be okay. I just want to start.” 

 

“Okay, I’m going to touch you again.” He put his hands on her leg again, and she didn’t stiffen as much this time. As he worked along her skin, he felt her breathing deepen with his constant movements. 

 

“The birds,” he started speaking before he could stop his bloody lips from moving, “are for my sister. She was nothing but a dove, a pure white dove.” 

 

He looked at Sansa then, and she was staring at him, with a peculiar expression on her face. 

  
“I used to be called a little dove.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out before I leave tomorrow for Spain!  
> Thanks to everyone who gave kudos & comments, I appreciate far more than you know!
> 
> love to all! xox


	3. I Was Only Trying...

_ He put a painting on the wall,  _ Sansa thought to herself. She looked at the vivid colors of the abstract with interest as she waited for Sandor to finish whatever he was doing on the other side of his office. She wrung her hands together, her fingers just came out of the end of the lilac sweater. Her bangs were braided to one side, and the rest of her hair cascaded over one shoulder. This was the first time she had worn down in almost six months. It was still too long, but she found the small braid helped. 

 

Sandor let a grunt that startled Sansa. She peered at him over her thick-rimmed reading glasses; he wore a plain black long sleeve with dark grey pants. He cracked his neck, and a few strands fell from his bun. Another tattoo peeked out from his shirt. 

 

“Is everything alright?” Sansa asked him quietly. 

 

“Everything…” he turned around, “is bloody wonderful, Ms Stark.” 

 

He didn’t look particularly happy or mad. Sansa didn’t know what to say in response, so instead she said nothing, and looked back at the painting. She couldn’t remember any colors from the last week she had been there. 

 

“Do you like it?” Sandor asked. 

 

“The colors are beautiful, and the shapes are wonderful. I don’t remember it being here before” She flicked her eyes towards Sandor, and then trained them back on the painting. It truly was beautiful. 

 

He started shaking his head, with a small laugh, “Not the painting. The start of the tattoo, the one you’ve tracing with your pinky for the past two minutes.” 

 

She looked at him then, and noticed that he actually had a quite nice smile. Not despite his scars, but because of them. His skin glistened similarly to the way that her thigh did. It made him unique. Maybe she would tell him sometime. Maybe. 

 

“You can come on over now.” Sandor motioned over as he pulled on his black latex gloves. 

 

Sansa gripped the arm of the chair before she stood. Her jeans were cuffed up to the ankle, and were loose around her waist, but she cinched them off with a brown woven belt. Taking in a deep breath, she walked with deliberate steps to the chair she had sat in last week. She silently cursed herself for wearing jeans. 

 

As she got to the chair, she started undoing her belt, and then her jeans. Sandor kept his back to her; she didn’t know if it was to give her privacy or that he was simply getting ready. She preferred the first option. She kicked her legs out of the jeans, and silently laid herself on the chair. 

 

Sandor reached down, opened a cabinet under the tray of inks, and pulled out a thin dark blue blanket. He laid it across her lap, and then exposed her thigh with the beginnings of the wolf. 

 

Sansa breathed out a relieved sigh, “Thank you.”

 

He simply nodded, and started rubbing wipes onto her skin. “Did you follow the directions I gave you last week?” 

 

“I did.” Sansa nodded as she looked at his as he began to work. He was a man of few words, but his hands were expressive. They were big and scarred, but they moved in ways language failed to describe. 

 

“I put the painting up on Tuesday,” Sandor said after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

 

“Why?” She looked back at the painting; it was streaked with brights blues and purples. 

 

“A good artist always displays his work,” He straightened his back, and placed a hand firmly against her thigh. 

 

For the first time, Sansa didn’t flinch against his touch. “You painted that?”

 

He was hunched over her leg again, but she heard gruff of laughter, “Don’t sound so astonished girl. I can do more that tattoo skulls onto people’s biceps.” 

 

“That’s not what I was saying!” Sansa’s face reddened with embarrassment. “It’s so bright, and you’re so… not.” 

 

“I’m going to elect to ignore that, or I might have to mess up this beautiful leg of yours.” Sandor looked up at her, and winked. He squeezed her leg reassuringly, “Only kidding, Ms Stark. 

 

Sansa let out a shaky laugh, “I know.” 

 

“I painted that about a year before my sister died. Painted it for her, actually. She died before I could give it to her.” 

 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Sansa’s hand twitched, as if she were about to reach out to him, but she hid it in the folds of the blankets. 

 

“That’s what they all say; you can shove your courtesies, girl.” His voice was soft, but was edged. 

 

“That is what they all say, even when they don’t mean it.” Sansa looked past Sandor and to the wall. Her voice lacked the emotion it normally did. Memories of her father pushed towards her, and then Joffrey’s face clouded her vision.

 

He looked up at her then; “My sister would always tell me that kindness is better than hatred, that life is better when you look to see the best in people. Life is better with a sweet cup of coffee than a bitter one.” 

 

Sansa smiled a little then, her eyes focused in on him; Joffrey’s face faded as she looked at Sandor. “It’s a shame I don’t like coffee.” 

 

“Really? Not even those frappe, latte, Al Pacino things that everyone is obsessed with?” 

 

Sansa chuckled to herself, “I believe what you mean is a cappuccino, and no. Coffee is gross.” 

 

Sandor looked up, and brushed a couple of stray strands of hair from his face.They looked at each other for a few moments before he looked down again, and busied himself with working on her tattoo. 

 

His hands no longer felt foreign or frightening on her body. She didn’t stiffen at his touch, or jump when he increased the pressure of his hand. Sansa looked down at his work with interest, but could not find the words to speak to him. 

 

As she looked down at her reddening skin, Sansa remembered the kettle of burning water, and fire stoker that rolled along her thigh. Sansa shut her eyes, and tried to breathe in deeply. For months, she tried forgetting what he had done to her, but it never worked. She always remembered.

 

“Sansa?” Sandor’s voice pulled out of whatever trance she was in. It was the first time he used her first name.

 

“Oh, sorry, I must zoned off.” She rubbed at her eye to find that it was wet. 

 

“Did your sister ever tell you how I got my scars?” His voice was quiet as he set back to work. 

 

“Um, no, she didn’t.” 

 

Sandor breathed in, “I was a little boy, and I was often home by myself. The rest of my family worked; my father worked through the night, and my brother worked in a mechanic’s shop. He was this big bloke, and twice as vicious. Nobody liked him; my father tolerated him. One night, just after winter holidays, I was bored. I was home by myself, and I wandered into my brother’s room. I found his old toys, old broken things that should been thrown away a long time ago…” 

 

Sandor stopped the needle, and the room became eerily quiet. Sansa didn’t take her eyes off Sandor as he stretched out his hands, and breathed in an unsteady breath. 

 

“I was playing with this one knight. It was broken already, the arm was falling off, and it wouldn’t stand by itself. I was playing with it by the fire, and then Gregor came home. He was already drunk, and he saw me playing his gods be damned toy. He was a grown man, but it was still his. He didn’t say a word, just slowly walked over to me, took the toy, and pushed my head into the fire.” 

 

Sansa battled the tears against her eyes. She wouldn’t cry at this. Sandor didn’t look like he had any emotion about this, maybe he had spoken about it so many times before that it didn’t phase him anymore. 

 

“Is he locked up now? Where he should be?” Sansa wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him. No one comforted her, and she so desperately wanted someone to. 

 

“He’s dead now.” Sandor looked at her, and his expression changed as he saw her eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry; I was only trying…” 

 

“Trying to do what?” Sansa scrunched her eyebrows together. 

 

“I know this burn wasn’t an accident, Ms Stark. No one can accidentally spill over a liter of boiling water on their leg, and let it burn into the tissue. Or make perfect fist marks on their own arms.” He stopped, and Sansa looked at him with intense fear. “I haven’t told anyone how I got the burns. I never even told the police when they asked me. I spent years blaming myself, shutting myself away. Ms Stark, whatever he did to you; you did not and do not deserve it.” 

 

_ Oh gods,  _ Sansa thought to herself,  _ oh gods, no.  _  Her breath hitched before she felt her entire chest tighten. Someone knew, someone knew besides her. And she didn’t even have to tell them. He just knew. “Am I that transparent?” 

 

She tried to laugh, but instead a sob came out. Sandor looked over, and grabbed the box of tissues. He awkwardly handed them to her, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to…” 

 

“No,” Sansa said immediately, while blowing her nose into the tissue. “It’s just that… he’s a monster. A real monster. You’re so kind. With everything, I appreciate it so much. I really do.” 

 

Suddenly. Sandor melted into himself, almost as if he were abashed. “Well, yeah.” 

 

He turned the needle back on, and hunched over her leg. Sansa watched him as she dabbed the tissue at her naked eyes. 

 

“I was making tea, and then Joffrey came home. He was mad about something, and we started fighting about something. I don’t remember what, I just remember he was furious. I never really argued back to him, just let him go through his mood swings, and wait for him to come back to me, but this time, I talked back, screamed back at him. He looked at me stupefied for a second. Then he pushed me down, grabbed the kettle. He dumped the whole thing on my leg. Then he held the kettle against my thigh, just to make sure I learned my lesson. I went to the hospital, and then I went back home. I slept in the same bed with him for over a year after that. He wouldn’t let me wear shorts or sun dresses, let me go to the beach, or see my family in the summer.” 

 

She wasn’t looking at Sandor as she spoke, but she felt something touch her hand. She looked down to see that he slipped his own hand into hers, and gave a soft squeeze. He didn’t look back up at her, but just went about his work. 

  
For the first time in a long time, Sansa wasn’t afraid at someone touching her skin. She and Sandor were one of the same. They both felt the lashing and burning of someone they thought loved them, and were made stronger from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!   
> I'm so terribly sorry about the delay on this, but going to Spain for a week and a half put me way behind in school!   
> In case you're wondering, my trip was FABULOUS. I had the best time; got to see all the beauty Spain had to offer. I saw the ocean for the first time, also went to Morrocco. It was wonderful; I will definitely be going back.
> 
> as always, if you could comment tell me how you like the story I would love it! comments are what keep me going! 
> 
> much love xox


	4. Maybe So

Sandor stared outside as cloud began to block out the sun. Wind whipped dead leaves around, and created a whistling throughout the trees that lined the street. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out tension knots that had been building throughout the past week. 

 

With a quick glance at his phone, he realized he had been waiting for four to roll around. He was waiting for the Stark girl. He didn’t know why exactly, but he came to admire their time together. She didn’t speak that much, which was both a relief and an irritator. Her voice was soothing, and it was so soft. He found that he was talking more, trying to calm her irritated feathers. He had never done it before, never felt he had to.  

 

Sansa Stark was strong, just in a quiet way. He still doubted if Arya and her were related - they were too different from each other. But what Sansa had been through, which was similar to what he had been through, was enough to wreck a person. It destroyed him, but it made it her as strong as steel. 

 

He brought his hands over his head, and stretched out his shoulders and back. Letting out a deep sigh, Sandor turned away from the windy outside. He looked at the abstract he hung up on the wall. It had been sitting in storage for years. Sandor rarely thought about his family nowadays, but seeing this painting reminded him of a much different time. A time when he couldn’t speak because his face was healing, so his sister would sing to him. She bought him his first sketchbook. Gods, there was a reason he didn’t think about her. It left him so damned depressed. 

 

A flash of bright red from outside the window caught Sandor’s eye. Sansa Stark was walking in with her arms crossed at her chest, and her chin pointed inward to protect her face from the relentless wind. This time, her clothes seemed to fit better today. Dark jeans cuffed up to her ankle, and a tan jacket that went to her mid-thigh. Her long hair was piled into a bun on the top of her head, stray pieces blowing about her face. She was without a doubt, the most beautiful person he had ever seen. 

 

Shaking his head, Sandor turned away from the window. He started disinfecting his needles, and pulling out Sansa’s file. In two minutes, Shae’s face appeared in his doorway. 

 

“Stark is here, Sandor. Want me to have her wait a couple more minutes, or are you ready now?” 

 

“You can send her in now, thanks.” He didn’t look up to see the surprised face she was wearing. He rarely said a complete sentence to her. 

 

Sandor kept his back to the door as he heard it creak back open, then squeak shut. Her soft footsteps scratched against the tiled floor. The chair creaked under her weight, and then a soft thud of a purse touched the ground. 

 

When he turned, he saw Sansa rubbing a pair of reading glasses on her shirt. 

 

“Afternoon,” she smiled at him shyly, and looked down as she put her glasses back on her face. 

 

“Afternoon,” he replied curtly. “You can just come right over.” 

 

“Okay,” Sansa stood up, and started walking over. Sandor reached into the cabinet under the inks, and grabbed the same blanket that she had used last time. He held it out to her as unbuttoned her pants. 

 

He turned away again after she took the blanket from him. “Thank you.” 

 

He heard the rustling of her clothes, and then the squeaking of the chair. She took a couple of moments to adjust herself; he then waited an extra couple of seconds to turn around.

 

“Ms Stark, how is the tattoo feeling? Any problems over the past week?” 

 

“Not a one. It feels great. I’ve been putting lotion on every morning, afternoon, and evening. Been avoiding tight fitting clothing.” 

 

“Any itching?” He lifted the blanket off her thigh to see the wolf. He could have finished it up in the last week, but he decided it would have been to drag it out a bit. It gave her time to adjust, and gave him more time with her.

 

“Yeah, a bit. But I didn’t itch it. At least I tried not to.” She smiled at him with no teeth. 

 

He traced a finger along the outside of the tattoo, and noticed a light scratch that was raised. His finger left a trail of goosebumps. “What happened there? 

 

“Oh,” Sansa looked down at her own leg for a couple moments, then looked back up, “my dog jumped on me. It’s not going to be a problem is it? It didn’t look that bad afterwords.” 

 

“No… no, it’ll be fine.” He grabbed alcohol wipes, and began to gingerly rub her skin with them. “What kind of dog?” 

 

Sansa was looking at his hands, but avoiding looking directly at her leg, “She’s a husky - her name is Lady. Pure white.” 

 

“Sounds beautiful. How old?” He glanced up at her to now see her eyes trained on his own. It was unnerving. People did not look at his face. 

 

“She’s still a puppy - about eight months old. My sister bought her for me.” She didn’t look away from him, so he bent back over her leg, and turned on the needle. 

 

“That was kind of her. I find it hard to believe you and Arya are related.” 

“Are you calling me rude, Mr. Clegane?” Sansa’s face was filled with mock hurt. 

 

Sandor looked up, and began trying to explain, “No…  I - I was saying two different thoughts at the same time. I don’t think you’re rude at all.” 

 

Sansa smiled at him, “I know, but it’s so rare for me to be able to tease someone. I’m sorry if I made you flustered.” 

 

“You did not make me flustered, Stark.” Sandor smiled a bit, but it felt odd. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled on his own, without it being forced. 

 

“I think I did, but since you have control over what my leg looks like, I’ll let you be.” Sansa chuckled a bit, and their eyes connected for a moment until he looked back down. 

 

“That would be best. You don’t want this wolf to have a beak as a nose.” 

 

Sansa laughed, “I really wouldn’t.” 

 

There was only the humming from the needle for a minute. Sandor felt her eyes on his every movement. He was used to this feeling, but it was somehow different with her. Today, she smiled at him, even laughed. She hadn’t jumped at his touch. 

 

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “What tattoo did you do for Arya?” 

 

“What?” He looked up, and focused on her. 

 

“Which one of Arya’s tattoos did you do?” 

 

“She’s had three from me; a bouquet of dead flowers, a wolf, and a design thing.” 

 

“Arya has a wolf?” 

 

“You didn’t know? It was her second one, but hers is fierce and growling. Yours is poised and strong.” 

 

“I used to be.” Sansa smiled sadly, and looked back down at his hands. 

 

“Your leg is going to look good, Sansa. The redness will go completely down in two to three weeks. You won’t be able to see the scar, no one will be able to see the scar.” 

 

“I’ll know it’s there.” 

 

“But you won’t see it. You’ll look down at over the next couple of months, and expect to see the same ugly scar you’ve been seeing over the past year. But instead you’ll see this wolf. A wolf is strong, part of a pack. Just go find your pack, and you’ll be strong. You’ll be great.” 

 

He was looking into her eyes as he spoke. He had even grabbed her hand, and held tight. He needed her to see what he saw in her. 

 

“Thank you, Sandor. That means more than you would know.” Sansa squeezed his hand for a moment, and smiled at him.

 

“Well, I was only saying the truth.” He let go of her hand, and once again went back to her tattoo. At this rate, he wouldn’t get anything done. 

 

“Do you have a pack?” 

 

“A pack?”

 

“You know, a wolf pack? A family? I know when you were younger, your family wasn’t exactly a family. But do you have one now?” 

 

“No, I’m a lone hound. That’s how I like it.” 

 

“But that must be terribly lonely.” 

 

“No, not if you like being alone.” 

 

“No one can like being alone all the time.” 

 

“I’m not alone right now. I work with people everyday; the rest of my time is alone.” 

 

“But who do you vent to? Tell about your day? Talk to about anything?” 

 

“I don’t. I’m a solitary man, Ms Stark.” 

 

Sansa didn’t reply right away. He glanced up at her, and she looked as if she searching for something to say. “You say solitary, but I say lonely.” 

 

“And if I told you that I couldn’t make friends, what would you say?” 

 

“I would say that’s not true. I’d consider you my friend.” 

 

He let out a laugh, “You would, would you? You must have very low standards for friends then.” 

 

“You’re mistaken, I have the highest standards.” 

 

Sandor didn’t know what to say to that, so he was silent as he thought. “I have a dog.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“I have dog. That’s who I spend my time with.” 

 

“Oh, that’s adorable.” Sansa’s voice raised pitch. 

 

“Yeah,” Sandor said noncommittally. 

 

“What of kind dog is she?” 

 

“He is a german shepherd; his name is Strangers, and he is two years old.” 

 

“That’s lovely. He sounds beautiful. I love german shepherds; they’re so loyal.” 

 

“I wouldn’t know; I adopted him two months ago. He was a stray on my block.” 

 

“The poor thing. Did you get him all of his shots?” 

 

“No, I let him get infested with all the diseases.” He looked up, deadpanned. 

 

“No one is that heartless,” Sansa raised her eyebrows at him. 

 

“I could be.” 

 

“I don’t believe that.” Sansa smiled, and it crinkled the corner of her eyes. It was one of the first genuine smiles he had seen from her. 

 

“You’re too trusting.” 

 

“I have to trust you, remember? You’re the one making me beautiful again.” 

 

He looked up at her, and his mind stopped working. Again? She doesn’t think she’s beautiful now? The concept was so unreal to him. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Scar and all. What did she think of him? 

 

“Not again, Ms Stark. That’s not my job, to make people beautiful. You’re already beautiful.” He said it before he could stop himself. 

 

Sansa didn’t say anything for a couple of moments, “Maybe so, but you’re the one making me believe it again. So thank you, Sandor Clegane. Without you, I’d be terrible.” 

  
“Maybe it’s the other way, Ms Stark. Maybe you’re the one making me not so terrible.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this! 
> 
> you know the deal, I love comments ! 
> 
> love you all, xox


	5. I Would Like That

It was first Wednesday of April, and not a cloud was scattered in the light blue sky. Soft wind whistled in the trees lining the street. The once startling exterior of tattoo parlor now shone in a new light. The sun lightened up the dark paint, and though the snarling dogs still frightened Sansa, they were no longer scary. 

 

Sansa’s hair, once tight in a braid, blew around her face, getting caught her lightly glossed lips. Before crossing the street, Sansa wiggled her newly painted toenails in her sandals. It was odd to her now, to wear something that fit her body. The bright yellow sundress went to her midthigh, and peeking out on her leg was her wolf. She had never thought that she would feel comfortable enough to wear something so revealing again. 

 

She crossed the street, and pulled open the heavy door. Cool air rushed her face; she closed her eyes, and breathed in the clean scent. 

 

“Good morning, Ms Stark.” The young woman sat at her computer, looking up briefly as Sansa walked in. 

 

“Morning,” Sansa smiled briefly, and went to sit at the same chair she had sat at for the past four sessions. She came early today, knowing that this was the last time. She had wanted a chance to soak in everything around her; it amazed her how frightened she was to come. How everything frightened her only a few weeks ago. 

 

A loud burst of laughter sounded from the back of the shop behind a closed door. His laughter. She hadn’t heard it much during their sessions, but she could imagine his eyes crinkling in the corners as his smile widened. Sandor Clegane smiled absentmindedly as he worked, but it was never a full smile. It like an echo of a smile, almost there, but too far away to make all the distinctions of a true smile.

 

She had watched him work on her leg with wonder. He made art out of such ugliness. It amazed her; she never thought she would be able to look at the scar without feeling disgust, but now she felt wonder and fascination. Sansa began to trace the wolf without actually touching her skin. The pale grey fur was meticulously detailed. She had watched him go over line after line, and if anyone looked at it now, they would think it was done. She did, but he told her it needed it be perfect. That was alright with her; it gave her another hour to two hours with him. 

 

“Ms Stark? I think he’s ready for you.” The woman at the desk smiled at her, and turned back to the computer, typing with fever. 

 

“Thank you.” Sansa smiled, and stood. She pinched the end of the yellow sundress in her hands. 

 

Laughter continued to sound as she stepped through the hallway. 

 

“Come on, you bloody bastard, you know damn well that we can do it.” Sandor chuckled as he spoke, but no one answered him. He spoke again, and Sansa realized that he was on the phone. 

 

Softly, she lifted her hand to knock on the door, but the door opened before she could actually knock. Sandor stood at her, his phone at his ear. He mouthed, “One second,” and turned back to his computer, leaving the door open. 

 

She didn’t know if that meant she could go in or not, so she stayed outside the door. Her hand tight on the hem of her dress. Sandor’s back was to her now. His shoulders moved as he continued to talk into the phone; it was cheeriest she had ever seen him. 

 

“Okay, rat bastard, I got you down for the third Thursday in June. Don’t back out. Bye.” He hung up the phone, and let out a deep breath. He swivelled the chair back around to look at Sansa, “Hello, Stark.” 

 

Sansa took her weight off the doorframe, and smiled sweetly at him. “Hello, Clegane.” 

 

“You can come in, you know.” He stood up, and stretched out his arms, bringing them above his head, causing his shirt to raise up and reveal the lower of his abdomen. Sansa gulped, and forced her eyes to stay on his face. 

 

“Oh, thank you.” Sansa stepped through the threshold, and smiled up at him again. 

 

“Are you ready?” He asked. 

 

“For what?” 

 

“This is it, Ms Stark. One last session, and you’re free.” He laughed a bit, but when she didn’t join in, he trailed off. “I want to make sure everything is good; I’ll finish up the fur and get to the eyes today. Then we’ll have to go over the aftercare, and then sign a few more things. Then we’ll be done.” 

 

“Oh, okay.” Sansa didn’t like how he sounded, so business like. “Do you want me on the chair then?” 

 

“Yes,” he walked over to the tray, and started getting his gloves on. Sansa followed him, and got on the chair. She pinched the dress, and pulled it up to reveal the wolf. 

 

“You’ve been scratching it?” He asked after just glancing at it. 

 

“No,” Sansa bit her lip, “Not very much.” 

 

“It is pivotal that you don’t scratch it.” Sandor grabbed inks, and then placed his hand on her leg. “You don’t want to mess up the masterpiece I’m making you.” 

 

“I would never want to ruin what someone is working so hard on,” She drawled out a fake southern accent. 

 

To her surprise, he played along, “Why thank you, darling. It is most appreciated.” 

 

Sansa couldn’t stop her herself from giggling, “That’s quite an accent you got there, you from the south?” 

 

“Born in Scotland actually,” Sandor looked up at her. “I’m going to start working on you now, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” She smiled, and her body reflexively tightened as he touched her. “You don’t have a Scottish accent.” 

 

“I don’t; I was only born there, and then lived there until I was two. We moved here, and been here ever since.” 

 

“Do you ever want to go back?” 

 

Sandor didn’t answer right away, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. “Sometimes. Sometimes, I just want to go anywhere that isn’t here.” 

 

“I feel the same way,” Sansa bit her lip. He was hunched over her leg again, and loose strings of hair started falling out of his bun. It was strange to see a man with a head full of hair like that; all the men in her family kept it cropped short. The half of his head with the scars had less hair than other side, but it was thick all the same. She wanted to feel it in her fingers. 

 

“Yeah? Where would you go?” 

 

“I don’t know, maybe Greece, but I really do love Ireland. I used to dream of travelling all the time, but I forgot about it in the past months.” 

 

The sound of the needle was the only thing they heard for a few moments, and then Sandor coughed, “Do you know what the Greeks said about redheads?” 

 

Sansa cocked an eyebrow at him, “I don’t.” 

 

“They were said to be of bad moral character, and were not to be trusted.” He laughed as he saw her face change; she tried not to smile, but it was no use. 

 

“We were also the first be executed at the Salem Witch Trials, and during the Dark Ages we were marked as vampires.”  Sansa laughed as she spoke. She couldn’t believe out of all the people, Sandor would bring up her red hair. 

 

“Sansa Stark, are you a witch?” He stopped working on the tattoo, and looked in her eyes. 

 

“The world will never know.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. 

 

“I would accuse you of being a vampire, but it seems your shoulders are sunkissed.” 

 

Sansa looked down at her shoulder to see that it was sunburned. “Would you look at that?” 

 

He continued to look at her shoulders, then his gaze drifted down her arms, settling on her wrist. The bruises were no longer there, nor was any other bruise. Every trace Joffrey on her body was either gone or covered permanently. 

 

“He wasn’t always like that.” She said, not to Sandor particularly. Maybe more to herself. 

 

“What?” He looked back at her eyes, his own softening. 

 

“Joffrey. He was kind in the beginning, attentive, sweet. A golden boy. Everyone loved him, and he decided that I was good enough for his attention. It made me feel special, that I was important. It took him four months to start showing his true colors, but by then, I didn’t think that I could actually leave. So I stayed.” Sansa’s voice didn’t get thick with emotion, and she didn’t feel choked up. She sounded as if she were reading a story, one that didn’t change her entire life. 

 

“What made you leave? Or what made you realize that you could?” He avoided looking at her, but Sansa didn’t notice. She was too busy looking at her hands, a faint tan line where a engagement ring used to be. 

 

“I don’t know. After his last… I don’t know what to call it, outrage, I guess. After his last outrage, I knew I couldn’t stay with someone for the rest of my life, knowing that they could willingly mutilate my body, and expect everything to be fine. The bruises he left faded, but this scar will be with me forever. I had a choice between staring at it everyday, pitying myself or doing something about it. I hope chose right.” 

 

“You did. You did choose right. Like I said the first time I saw you, you are a fighter. Not a loud clashing fighter, but one who fights silently. That is strength, Ms Stark.” 

 

“I think by this point, you can call me Sansa.” Sansa smiled at him. 

 

“Okay, Sansa.” She liked the way her name sounded on his lips. 

 

He continued moving the needle continuously over skin, wiping her skin, dipping the needle in ink. It was a process that was evident he had done many times over. His hands moved with precision. The lines on the wolf began to look like fur, but the eyes were still empty. 

 

“What color will the eyes be?” Sansa asked after looking over his work for a couple of minutes. 

 

“That is up to you, Ms - Sansa.” 

 

Sansa thought for a moment. The eyes could be green like her sisters, or blue like hers. They could be brown, like Jeyne’s. When Sandor looked up at her, she saw his eyes, deep grey with flecks of amber. She smiled at him, and he looked for a moment, before going back to work. 

 

“How about one like mine, with the blue, and then a grey one? My sister used to have a dog with heterochromia, and it was so beautiful.” Sansa adjusted her back, getting uncomfortable from sitting in the same position for so long. 

 

“Almost, don’t worry.” He turned to grab more ink, “Heterochromia sounds like a good idea. Different too. No one will have the same tattoo as you.” 

 

“They never would have, you designed this one just for me.” Sansa smiled at him. 

 

“Aye, that’s true. I hate those flash tattoos, hate them with every fiber of my being.” Sandor laughed a bit, shaking the loose strands of hair out of his face. 

 

“Flash tattoos?” Sansa scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion. 

 

“You know, the ones that come from a book, or a poster. Usually black and white, really simple. I believe if you want to put something on your body for the rest of your life, it should be something. Not because it’s the prettiest or the cheapest.” 

 

“So what is the significance of the paddle on your tricep?” 

 

“Paddle?” Sandor cranked his neck to look at the tattoo, “That’s an oar. I have the canoe on the other side.” 

 

“Oh, okay. But what is the significance of it?”

 

Sandor cocked an eyebrow at her, and then leaned back into the tattoo, “You know, Sansa Stark, you managed to pick the only two tattoos on my whole body that involve my sister.” 

 

Sansa bit her lip, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” 

 

She continued to look at him then, “Wait, whole body? Do you have more tattoos than just your arms?” 

 

“Oh, Sansa Stark, I have many more than you would think.” He laughed, and then stood. “I think you are all done.” 

 

Sansa hesitated before looking down at it. Her hands gripped her dress once more, and she bit her lip as she looked down. It was red, but it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

 

“Wow,” she whispered to herself. 

 

“I hope the quietness from you is a good thing.” Sandor began fiddling with things, but Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off the the beautiful wolf imprinted on her skin. 

 

“We’re going to go over aftercare, and then we’ll have a few more things to sign.” Sandor began wiping at her tattoo, and placing the protective film over it. 

 

For the next twenty minutes, Sandor explained completely the ways to avoid infection, how to properly clean and care for the new tattoo. Sansa listened intently, asking questions whenever she was afraid she was going to mess up. He took the time to show the best brands he recommended. Afterwards, there were some more papers for her to sign. She signed her name with care; making sure every letter was perfect. 

 

As she signed and dated the last paper, a part of her heart felt heavy. This would be the last time she would sit with Sandor Clegane. Perhaps even be the last time she saw him.  She had opened up to her, but now she closed off. She had only really talked with him for five hours over five weeks, but there was still so much she wanted to say. 

 

“I can walk you out,” Sandor said, interrupting her thoughts.

 

“I would like that,” Sansa smiled. She stood up as he did, and followed him out of the room, down the hall. The woman who was at the computer when Sansa got there was gone. 

 

“You can call us anytime you’re afraid of an infection, or have any questions, or want to get another tattoo.” Sandor looked back at her. His hair was still caught up in a bun, but looked as if it might fall down at anytime. Sansa looked at her hair, then followed the line of his back, towards his legs. 

 

“I will, thank you.” They reached the door, each of them standing on one side. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but kept silent. “Thank you, again, Sandor. I appreciate this far more than you could ever imagine.” 

 

“It’s just my job, Sansa.” He smiled down at her, still looking as if he wanted to say more. Sansa couldn’t stop looking at his lips. 

 

“You go above and beyond your job.” She watched his eyes move from her eyes to her lips. His body moved ever so slightly, and she wanted nothing more in this moment for him to kiss her. 

 

“Sansa Stark, I told you things I haven’t told anyone.” 

 

“The same with myself.” Sansa smiled, “Say Sandor, would you be willing to go get an Al Pacino with me?” 

 

Sandor raised an eyebrow in confusion for just a second, but then laughed. “I thought you said coffee tasted like dirt and water with some sugar.” 

 

“It does, but I could just get a tea. The important thing is I’d be with you.” Sansa bit her lip on the last part. 

 

She watched Sandor’s face as she spoke, but he gave away nothing. Until he smiled, “Aye, little bird, I’d like that very much.” 

 

He picked up her hand that was pinching the fabric of her dress, and kissed her fingers. 

 

For once, Sansa didn’t need him to tell her that he was going to touch her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this story! I loved writing it.! 
> 
> Love you all xox

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you liked the beginning! This is going to be a five chapter one, and I have an outline all ready to go. I would like to say I will be posting every week, but alas, I am going to Spain this week, so I will not be able to post anything for the next couple of weeks. 
> 
> Please comment what you think, what you like or dislike about it. Your comments are what keep me going! much love! xox


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